He didn't ease into her. He breached her like a siege.
The impact drove the breath from her lungs in a sharp, violent hiss. The mahogany table groaned under the sudden weight, the wood complaining beneath her spine. Jane’s nails dug into the polished edge, her mind frantically trying to calculate the tensile strength of the timber, the cost of the shattered crystal littering the floor, the exact temperature of the air conditioning blowing across her bare, trembling thighs.
A thousand dollars for the glasses. Ten thousand for the table. Sixty-eight degrees in the room.
If she just focused on the numbers, she wouldn't have to feel the absolute, tearing fullness of him stretching her apart.
"Look at me," Michael whispered.
His voice wasn't a roar. It was that terrifying, surgical drawl,
